


Women At Work

by lateralus112358



Series: Discussion Between Professionals [5]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-01 22:30:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11496069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lateralus112358/pseuds/lateralus112358
Summary: Dr. Shaw takes Special Agent Root out on a date.





	Women At Work

“I guess it was mostly spite, at the start,” Dr. Shaw says around a bite of her The Whole HogTM sandwich. She pauses to swallow, and then continues on. “Ended up being the best thing I ever did. Turns out the only lousy part of medicine is the patients. Wish I’d figured that out sooner.”

“So you don’t want to head back upstairs? Work on live patients again? I mean,” Special Agent Root takes a sip from her large soda cup (which she had filled with water), and smiles. “Present company excluded, of course.”

“Hell no.” Shaw says firmly. “Patching you up every time you do something stupid is more than enough for me.” The agent, Shaw has discovered, has a penchant for injuring herself. She’s like a goddamn magnet for malefactors looking to dish out punishment. Punishment returned in more than equal measure, of course, but Special Agent Root still seems to be in perpetual need of bandages, stitches, and bed rest, none of which can apparently be acquired at any place other than Dr. Shaw’s apartment.

Though, once in the bed, her need for rest seems to evaporate. This is to the satisfaction of both parties involved.

“I have to admit,” Root says, resting her hand high on Shaw’s thigh, moving it back and forth in a way that is intentionally distracting. “This isn’t how I pictured your idea of a date.”

The location Shaw had chosen is a tiny restaurant called The Grub Shack, which, despite its dubious name, serves the most deliciously cooked meat in the city. Located behind a defunct gas station on a largely uninhabited street, the restaurant itself consists solely of a trailer-turned-smokehouse, and several tables and benches a few yards away beneath some unkempt-looking trees. Dr. Shaw has long been one of the restaurant’s most devoted patrons, and at one time donated a considerable sum to keep the place open (and to remain at its current location). The sandwich she ordered was nearly the size of her head.

Was. It’s smaller now, as she’s been steadily demolishing it.

“I’m a simple girl, Root.” Shaw shrugs. “We eat a ton of greasy food, then go home, tear each other’s clothes off and see if we can break my bed.” She smirks. “And if you rub my feet after, I might let you stay the night.”

“Foot massage seems awfully intimate.” Root replies with a smirk of her own. “Sounds like a relationship.”

“Yeah, well, so does sleeping with the same person for six months.” Shaw grunts.

“So you’re saying we _are_ in a relationship?”

“That’s just pragmatism.” Shaw finishes her fries and grabs half of Root’s, depositing them on her own plate. “Everyone else sucks at sex compared to you.”

“I thought sucking was what you wanted?” Root pinches a place on Shaw’s inner thigh that had seen its fair share of sucking the night before. 

“Fine,” she replies, strained. “You suck better than anyone else, too. Happy?”

“With you? Always.” Root lets go. Shaw huffs out a breath. Running her hand lightly over Shaw’s arm, Root asks, “What about this morning? Were you being ‘pragmatic’ then?”

“Yeah.” Shaw grins. “I wanted you to shut up.”

“Seems like a pretty thin excuse to me,” Root says. “I think you might be —“

Shaw cuts her off, abruptly tugging her forward into a sloppy, greasy kiss. She pulls back, looking satisfied with the slightly dazed expression on Special Agent Root’s face. “See?” Shaw says. “It works.”

“Very funny.” Root sniffs. 

“OK,” Shaw says, mouth full again. “Your turn to talk.”

Root turns to her. “About what?”

“Your job. Your life. Whatever.” Shaw lifts the top bun off her sandwich, grabs the bottle of barbecue sauce on the table and applies a liberal helping, then resumes eating. “That’s what people in these fucked-up codependencies do, right? Talk to each other about stuff? So talk.”

Root smiles slightly. “You don’t have to pretend to care about my life just to spare my feelings, Sameen. I won’t be upset.”

“I don’t care about your feelings.” Shaw says without looking up. “I’m asking because I’m interested.”

“Well,” Root tilts her head and smiles wider. “What girl could resist sweet talk like that?” She looks up at the sky, as if searching for something, then says, “I was born in Texas.”

“You don’t have much of an accent.” Shaw replies.

“Well, I never really liked it there.” Root studies her hands. “Tried to leave it all behind.” Silence falls for a few moments. Root takes a small bite of her sandwich; after noting Shaw’s stern look, she picks it up and takes a much larger bite, chewing over-emphatically. Swallowing, she continues, “Anyway, after that I went all over. Never stayed anywhere very long.” A small smirk crosses her face. “No roots.”

“Don’t linger on the details.” Shaw mutters sarcastically. 

Root gives her a reproving look. “I’m not the only one who’s reticent with her feelings, Sameen.”

“I’ve been open with you,” Shaw says. “I’ve told you about my life, my job, I practically let you move in with me. You’re the one that’s holding back.” She takes another bite of her nearly-devoured sandwich. “Which is fine. If you just want to fuck, that works for me. But if you want this thing to be something else, you need to step up.”

Root sighs, all teasing gone from her voice. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m just afraid of what you’ll think of me.” She takes a deep breath. “I was born with the name Samantha Groves.” She grimaces. “I always hated it. When the special agent job came around I starting using Root officially, but honestly that’s how I’ve always thought of myself.” She pauses momentarily, then barrels on, words pouring out faster like she can’t wait to be rid of them. “I killed a man was I was 16. By the time I was 20, I thought everyone was broken; bad code that needed to be erased. I hurt a lot of people.” Another pause, and then, “A few years later I was put in a mental institution for schizophrenia and paranoid delusions, which is probably the only reason I didn’t end up in prison for the rest of my life. I was in that place for nearly 10 years, but I only have one or two distinct memories. The rest is just a blur. Sad, scared. Angry.”

“Always thought you were a little nuts.” Shaw takes another bite of her sandwich. “Guess this explains it.” She grimaces. “Sorry, bad joke.”

Root shakes her head. “It’s fine, Sameen.”

“So how’d you get out? Far as I know the government doesn’t make a habit of recruiting at mental institutions.”

“I guess they made an exception for me. I seem to have that effect on people.”

Shaw responds to the deflection with a roll of her eyes. “Fine, I guess we’re skipping your escape from the asylum. What happened after that?”

“A lot of fighting. Hunting Samaritan’s agents. Trying to stop them from hurting people.”

“With your old partner?”

“Yes.”

“So am I ever going to hear the story there, or what?” Shaw presses. Most of the time Root can’t stop talking, but ask her a personal question and all of a sudden she only speaks in monosyllables.

Root sighs. “Maybe. There’s not much to tell. We got separated, and I never heard from him afterwards.”

“So you’ve just been doing this on your own since then?” Shaw asks. 

“I have someone else who helps me sometimes, but it was kind of lonely for a while.” She’s quiet for a moment, then asks, “Have you ever been lonely?”

“Not really. I like being by myself. Never really clicked with other people.” Shaw looks up. “I like it when you’re around, though.” This causes an enormously large smile to spread across Root’s face. Shaw looks down at her plate. “Anyway, what happened then?” 

“I came here. Met a girl. Fell in love.” One of Root’s hands finds one of Shaw’s and latches itself on.

“More like ‘met a girl and taunted her with tight pants until she gave in.’” Shaw mumbles.

“That’s what I said, sweetie.” Root’s hand travels up to Shaw’s face, across a cheek, and begins playing with strands of her hair. “Is that enough of my life story for you?”

“For now,” Shaw says, turning back to her plate, but not moving Root’s hand away. “Thanks. For telling me.”

“Anything for you, Sameen.” Root says, the sultry, teasing tone back in her voice. Shaw’s become so accustomed to it, sinking back into it is oddly comfortable. Almost offhandedly, Root asks, “What did you think of me? When we first met?”

“Thought you were hot. Obnoxious.” Shaw grunts. “Honestly, I couldn’t stand you.” She looks over, her glance containing something that one might believe to be affection. “But you just kept buggin’ me.”

“I wasn’t sure if I was your type, at first.”

Shaw scoffs. “Tall, thin, gorgeous. High pain threshold. You’re everyone’s type.”

“You better keep an eye on me, then.” Root says, winking. “Someone might try to steal me away from you.”

“You think you can do better than this?” Shaw gestures at herself. “Be my guest.”

Root smiles. “You’re right. I’m a very lucky girl.”

“Speaking of which,” Shaw stands up and stretches, chunking her empty cup into a nearby trash can. “You ready to get lucky?”

“Sameen, that was terrible.”

“Shut up.”

***

“Usually,” Dr. Shaw says between heavy breaths, lying on her back. “A foot massage stays localized to the person’s feet.”

“Sorry,” Special Agent Root says, pulling herself further up on the bed, resting her chin on Shaw’s chest. “Maybe you can teach me.”

“Sure,” Shaw pulls her in for a long kiss. “Later, though. I’m not going to be able to get up for a few hours. I don’t know how you find a second wind like that.”

“I have my ways.” Root replies, an innocent look on her face, a look which ironically has become synonymous with guilt.

Shaw puts one arm around Root’s shoulders, the other around her waist, and pulls her close. For all her dislike of the typical trappings of relationships, physical intimacy is something she’s taken to quite well. Perhaps because she’s always simply done whatever feels good, and Root’s body feels good pressed against hers. She closes her eyes and takes in the warmth and silence.

“Why did you first decide to become a doctor?”

So much for silence. Shaw cracks an eye open. “Haven’t I told you all this before?”

“Yes. Can you tell me again?”

Shaw sighs. “When I was thirteen I broke a window at school. Just punched through it. Shredded my arm; bits of glass jammed under my skin. When my mom took me to the hospital, the doctor didn’t talk down to me like teachers usually did. No chatter, no bullshit, just said what he was going to do and did it.” Shaw doesn’t even remember why she broke the window. Funny the things that stick with a person. “Anyway,” she continues. “I thought it would be a good job for someone like me. Doesn’t matter what you feel, only thing that matters is how good you are.”

“But it didn’t turn out that way.”

“No.” Shaw shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. I like where I am.”

Root raises her head and looks at Shaw. “You mean where you are with your job? Or with me?”

Shaw gives a small smile. “Both.” She kisses Root, who then settles back down on Shaw’s chest, head beneath her chin.

“So you don’t ever wonder if you’re doing the wrong thing?”

“With you? Or the job?”

“Either.”

“No.” Shaw has never been inclined to doubt her own decisions. A fact that some seem to view as some extreme exertion of will, but really the answer’s much simpler. She just never thinks she’s wrong.

Root sighs. “I wish I could be as sure of things as you are.”

Shaw runs a hand down Root’s back. “What’s this about?”

Root doesn’t respond, and her slow, steady breaths make Shaw think she’s drifted off to sleep, until she asks, “Do you think you’re a good person?”

These sorts of questions pop up a lot, Shaw has noticed, since she stopped denying that she and Root were an item of some sort. Like the acknowledgement of some manner of relationship was a contract that stipulated a certain number of discussions about feelings every week. “Can’t we save the philosophical stuff for later?” She groans. “We should have stuck to the ‘no talking after sex’ rule.”

“Well,” Root says, running a hand slowly up and down Shaw’s stomach. “We didn’t do very well with the ‘no cuddling after sex’ rule. Or the ‘only three days’ rule.”

“ _You_ didn’t do very well with them.”

“You’re the one who asked me to stay.”

“I said you _could_ stay. Not the same thing.”

Root seems to ignore this. “Maybe this one will be easier. Do you think _I’m_ a good person?”

Shaw sighs. “Root, I’m the wrong person to ask about this.”

“I care what you think.”

“Is this about the stuff you told me earlier?” Shaw asks, pulling herself into a sitting position, back resting against the headboard, dragging Root, who bears a disgruntled expression, up with her. “Because that doesn’t change anything for me.”

“Maybe it should.”

“Look,” Shaw says, not entirely sure where the rest of the sentence is supposed to be headed. Sex, nights out, and the occasional shootout she’s fine with. Actually, she finds all of those things immensely pleasurable. Even Root’s teasing and the constant banter and bickering that ensue is something she’s rather fond of. But being supportive is something she has no business attempting. “You’re not a bad person just because you did some shitty things.” She tries to follow this up with another thought, but can’t find any words. She sighs again. “I’m sorry, Root. I’m no good at this.”

“No need to apologize,” Root says, raising her head to plant a kiss on Shaw’s cheek. “Thank you for trying to make me feel better.”

“For all the good it did.” Shaw mutters. “Anyway, I think we’ve thoroughly ruined my post-orgasm glow.”

“I guess I’ll just have to give you another orgasm.” Root says, a bit of perk returning to her voice. She looks up. “Or another foot massage. A real one, this time.”

“I think I prefer your version.”

Root grins, and moves to the end of the bed, trailing her hands along Shaw’s skin the whole way. “So does that mean you’ll let me stay the night?”

“You can stay as long as you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> There are a few lines of dialogue here that appear suspiciously similar to lines from the show. One might presume that characters retain their traits regardless of what universe they find themselves in, and in this light it does not seem surprising that certain thematic elements would recur. I think this idea is more appealing than just accepting that I’m lazy.
> 
> In other news, it looks like this series is continuing again! There will be two more stories in the series after this one, after which it will definitely be ended. Hope you enjoy this one and the ones to come, and as always, thank you to everyone who leaves kudos or comments!


End file.
